


The Perils of Hunting

by CleverLines_Unread_CleverNapkins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverLines_Unread_CleverNapkins/pseuds/CleverLines_Unread_CleverNapkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a seemingly simple hunting trip goes awry, not everybody gets out alive. To what lengths will the Winchesters go to try to save a friend? </p><p>"'This is bad, Dean,' whispered Sam as he came back. The two stood over their friend, slowly pulling back the clothes covering the wounds. 'This is really bad.' "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Series Of Unfortunate Hunters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So a few things first... 
> 
> Originally, this was set after "Taxi Driver" in Season 8, though that no longer seems to matter because of where this is set to go. Therefore, all you need to know is that Cas is still with the Winchesters, Kevin is in the wind with the Angel Tablet, and there's bad blood between the demons, angels, and Winchesters. Because what kind of story would it be if there wasn't, am I right? 
> 
> Aight, read and enjoy!

Tires screeched, curls of smoke coming off the rubber. Asphalt was stained with rubber, gravel flying. 

The car doors opened and shut, muffled voices pierced the silence of the lot. 

A streetlight was burned out in the corner. It came alive, flickering like the first moments of a thriving flame. 

Drips followed the trio as they made their way across the deserted parking lot, dark breadcrumbs trailing the characters of a real-life fairy tale. 

They stopped outside the furthest door from the Check-In desk, one stooping to fiddle with the lock. There were muttered curses traded as the seconds ticked by, one sagging under the weight of the other. 

A constant lookout was kept, scanning for potential witnesses until the lock on the motel clicked. Two of the men breathed a sigh of relief. 

The door slammed open under the pressure of one's foot, hitting against the faded flower-printed wallpaper of the dingy motel room. Moonlight streamed in, dimly lighting the small room as the three men stumbled through. Two men, one much taller than the other, supported the third as they all but dragged themselves inside. 

Mud tracked in behind them, following them from the door to one of the twin-sized beds lining the wall. The two men still standing dropped the third on the bed gracelessly. They were sweat soaked and messy, their skin caked with blood, their hair buried with mud and grime. 

"Sam, lights," said the shorter of the two, quiet and curt. 

The taller one, Sam, went back quickly, flicking on the lights and locking the door, leaving streaks of blood on the white door and switch. By the time he had returned to the bed, his brother was cataloguing their friend's wounds, medical kit already in hand. 

"This is bad, Dean," whispered Sam as he came back. The two stood over their friend, slowly pulling back the clothes covering the wounds. "This is really bad." 

"He's going to be fine," Dean growled out. He did not move his eyes from the work in front of him, his face scrunched in concentration. 

In front of them was a broken and bloodied Angel of the Lord, the most fiercest fighters in the world, though it wouldn't be known by seeing him now. He looked fragile, young, breakable. Broken. 

There were lines of cuts covering his torso, his usual white button-down now soaked red and in ribbons. The fabric was quickly disposed of, joining the already discarded tan trench coat on the floor. Castiel's skin was more red than its usual tan, blood flowing freely from the gouges; his eyes were closed, though what worried the Winchester brothers the most was that their friend was, and had been, completely unresponsive ever since he zapped them back to their beloved Impala. 

He wasn't dead exactly - it was clear that he was breathing, heavy and labored, just as his heartbeat was weak but steady. No, he wasn't dead, but if he stayed like this, it was only a matter of time. 

The brothers worked past their own pains trying to patch up their friend. Frequently, they had to wipe their own hands of their own blood for fear of it mixing into the Angel's and causing more damage. Their hands moved feverishly as they cleaned and bandaged the Angel in front of them, neither of them saying much. After a while, there was nothing more for the two to do besides wait. 

It was all up to Castiel and whatever fight he had left in him. 

 

Dean pulled up a chair from the rickety kitchenette, dropping himself down heavily. "Sam," he motioned to his brother, silently telling him it was his turn to get fixed up. Sam walked over, pulling out the chair next to him and propping his elbow up on the table. 

With a practiced ease and a gentleness shown only to his little brother, Dean worked insistently on the gash marring Sam's upper arm. The blood had long since dried, leaving long crusted trails down his tanned arm that Dean wiped away easily. 

Once Dean was finished, Sam switched places, making Dean stay seated as he tried to catalogue the worst of his older brother's wounds. 

Dean tried to insist that he was fine and didn't need assistance, but Sam ignored him, by now used to his brother's stubbornness; he simply placed a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him seated. The older Winchester sat, but he was anything but cooperative, all impatient hands and shifting eyes, looking from Sam's progress on the myriad of bruises, cuts, and scrapes peppering his chest to the unconscious Angel still laying motionless on the bed.

Sam understood his concern perfectly (every once in a while he'd give a glance over to their friend too) but it did nothing to stifle his own growing frustration: every time Dean would move, whatever Sam was doing would get messed up and he would have to start again. 

"Dammit, Dean," he said, roughly putting down the needle and roll of bandages he had been working with. "I can't stitch you up if you keep moving." 

Dean's head snapped towards his brother. He struck a face that could rival even the best of Sam's, "I told you I was fine, Sam. I don't need all this." 

"But you're not fine. You can't sit still, you're covered in blood, there's cuts all over you - you're hurt. As much as you want to hide it, you are. So shut up and sit."

"News flash, Sammy, we're _always_ hurt. It's our _job_ to get hurt and you and I both know I've had way worse than this. I don't need to be taken care of, I just..." Dean ran a hand through his short hair. He kept his eyes on the table in front of him. "I just need Cas to wake up." 

"I know, D-" 

"No, Sam, you don't know!" Dean stood up, knocking the cheap chair to the ground behind him. Sam jumped. "This is all my fault, okay? You getting sliced, this crappy motel room, Cas - all of it! If it weren't for me, he would still be awake and fluttering around somewhere." 

"It wasn't your fault - "

"Of course it was my fault! I'm the one who got the call that Kevin was here, I'm the one who convinced you it was a sound lead, I'm the one who let Cas come with us - "

Sam stood up too, now, "But you're not the one who thought the Tablet was in the factory, were you? And you weren't the one who interrogated the demon to get that information either. I was." He paused for a moment. "We were fooled, Dean. All of us." 

"Well then we shouldn't have been! We should know by now; we've been fooled our whole lives by these things! And every time, we go in too early or we're outmanned or outgunned or just plain in over our heads and it always ends up the same: someone dies. Somebody close to us. Mom, Dad, Jess, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Benny, Anna, hell, even each other. I can't do it again, Sammy, not with Cas. They played us. They played us good and we just let them."

Dean hung his head a moment as he stood in the middle of the dingy motel room. His clothes were still stained from his wounds, blending into the heavy puddle soaked into his side from where he held up Cas. 

"We couldn't have known, Dean," Sam said softly. 

Dean looked at him, stepped back, and sagged onto the free bed as if he could no longer support the rest of his body. His legs sprawled in front of him, his back bowed over, he looked younger than Sam could ever remember seeing him. 

"They knew. They knew we lost Kevin, they knew that we would follow any lead, no matter how slight. And they knew Cas would be with us. They had Angel Blades, for Christ's sake." Dean's voice was little more than a whisper, and he did not raise his head. 

Sam watched his brooding brother, and for once could think of nothing to say. Nothing would make this situation better, nor were there any words to lessen the Winchesters's guilt - either brothers'. So, together, they sat in silence. Together they sat in the small, dimly lit, dirty motel room, with nothing to say and nowhere to go, with only each other, and a sleeping, barely-there Fallen Angel. 

XxX


	2. Just Be Happy It's Not The Bates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a seemingly simple hunt goes awry, not everybody makes it out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Previously:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _" 'They knew. They knew we lost Kevin, they knew that we would follow any lead, no matter how slight. And they knew Cas would be with us. They had Angel Blades, for Christ's sake.' Dean's voice was little more than a whisper, and he did not raise his head._
> 
> _Sam watched his brooding brother, and for once could think of nothing to say. Nothing would make this situation better, nor were there any words to lessen the Winchesters's guilt - either brothers'. So, together, they sat in silence. Together they sat in the small, dimly lit, dirty motel room, with nothing to say and nowhere to go, with only each other, and a sleeping, barely-there Fallen Angel. "_

XxX

Castiel's blue eyes snapped open, his arm sweeping back the comforter draped over him. He couldn't remember putting it there. Or, for that matter, he couldn't remember laying down.The confused Angel tried to sit up but stopped at the sharp bursts of pain shooting up his chest. He stayed still a moment longer to brace himself before trying again; his arms shook under his weight and his breath came out in harsh pants, but he managed to sit himself up.

The room around him was unfamiliar and much too dark for his liking. The moldy old curtains were drawn, prohibiting any light from entering, though Castiel could feel that it was closer to morning than it seemed. There was a deep ache within his bones, an exhaustion that is not so easily cured in a night or two. He felt as though he had slept for days, but still needed more.

Rolling his body Cas planted his bare feet to the floor, shifting himself to the very edge of the bed. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself upright. 

Castiel stood for three seconds at the most before his legs gave out under him. The Angel groaned low and deep as he fell back against the bed, the mattress caving in around his form. Cas had never been in a situation quite like this before, where he could not make his vessel do what he wanted. He closed his eyes to try to collect himself again, to muster all of his angelic-will to get him out of this small, claustrophobic room before anyone found him; he tried to fly away, to get some perspective and figure out what was going on, but only succeeded in sounding the cuckoo clock in the corner, the lap flickering three times in quick succession. Even that small burst of power left him drained and sagging onto the bed.

Around him, there was an immediate bustle of activity: in the darkest part of the room - a doorway maybe? - there was a thump, followed by a scrape and rushed, booted footsteps. From behind, a softer, but no less alarming, rustling and creak, along with the unmistakeable scratch of metal before the room was drenched in light. 

The previously unrecognizable room was now doused in light from the lamp on the nightstand between the matching twin beds. On one sat Castiel and on the other, a very alert Sam Winchester, one hand outstretched towards the light, the other firmly holding the demon Ruby's old knife. His long hair was oddly flattened from sleep, his eyes wide and on guard. He must have been in the middle of a deep sleep. 

In the opposite end of the motel room, Dean Winchester stood, his legs spread, face much more awake and alert than his brother. He was still fully dressed, his boots laced and tied: he had obviously not been sleeping. His arms were straight and steady as he leveled his 1911 directly at Castiel. 

The air was tense for a moment as the three looked between each other. Castiel sat quietly, looking at the weapons being pointed at him with little to no intimation of discomfort. He had known the brothers for years now and knew that they wouldn't shoot unless there was more probable cause than a bump in the night.

But then again... 

Sam was the first to drop his guard, thinking through the thick fog of sleep before launching himself up and off of his bed, leaving the knife on his pillow. The younger Winchester brother strode around Castiel's bed until he was right in front of him, bending down to what had to be an uncomfortable height to look at Cas's face. 

"Hey, Cas, you back with us now?" he asked gently. 

Castiel looked hard at the other man, disregarding the question. "Where are we?" he asked; the Angel's voice, rough on any given day, came out deep and grating, though if his throat hurt because of it he gives no indication. 

Sam looked taken aback, glancing towards his brother still in the doorway before back to Cas, his long hair flipping as he did. "Oh, uh, in a motel," he said. "Just outside of town." 

"We have to leave. Now," ordered the Angel, pushing himself up with renewed determination. Sam stood from where he was crouched, surprised by the sudden movement. Castiel stumbled, bracing himself on Sam's shoulder, but staying on his feet nonetheless. 

From the kitchenette, Dean raced forward towards the pair, going to the opposite side as his brother. The eldest Winchester gripped Cas' elbow to help support him, but the Angel pulled roughly from his hold. He tried to step forward, away from the hunters, staggering a bit but holding his own weight now. 

"Cas?" Dean asked. It was the first word he had said since Cas had woken up. He sounded hesitant, like Castiel was a wounded animal ready to bolt at any moment. The hunter raised his hands in surrender, trying to soothe him.

"It's not safe here," Cas said, and Dean was reminded of when they had first met all those years ago. Cas had sounded just like that - firm, confident, assured - whenever he spoke. And after all the shit that had gone down since that night in the barn, it had been a long time since Dean had heard Cas sound like that. "We have to leave." 

The two brothers knew the situation had to be handled delicately. They weren't sure exactly what was going on, but they had an all-powerful, skittish, Fallen Angel in front of them, insisting they all leave their relatively safe motel room to go God-knows-where, not even a day after being lured and ambushed by a pack of demons in an elaborate coup. As much time as Dean and Cas spent together and how much the two shared, both brothers knew that Sam was much better equipped for dealing with him at the moment. 

"Cas," Sam said in his soothing voice. It was usually reserved for their trickier cases when an ordinary person had seen too much and had to be told there was more out there than they ever could have dreamed. "Cas, look at me." Cas turned his bright blue eyes to Sam's, making the hunter a tad unnerved. "This motel room... It's as safe as anywhere else around." 

The Angel looked around, searching now with a purpose, noting all the tell-tale hunter precautions he had previously overlooked : there were salt lines following the windowsill and lining the door, spread so deeply into the old carpet that the grains would surely never come out; there was a floor mat just a step further inside the room, past the salt line, that Cas would be his wings had a Devil's Trap written on the underside; the door was dead-bolted, the "Do Not Disturb" sign that hung on the singular nail protruding from the back of the door was conspicuously missing, replaced instead with a small rag from the bathroom to cover the backside of the peephole. 

Sam and Dean watched the Angel as he surveyed the room carefully. Slowly, Sam took a step - pausing and showing his hands when Cas started - before walking towards the space between the two beds. With narrowed eyes Castiel watched as Sam reached down and picked up a faded green canvas bag. It clanked with unknown contents as the younger Winchester placed it unceremoniously on the closest bed before unzipping it with ease. As soon as the duffel was open, various guns, both sawed off and whole, knives, and more than a few salt-filled rounds fell out. 

"Not to mention..." Sam said, reaching behind him to untuck his personal gun from under the pillow he had been sleeping on, unsheathing the magazine, showing a full litany of bullets. Tossing his gun on the bed, he gave Dean a pointed look, who followed his brother in relinquishing his hidden weapon onto the bed and drawing out his personal flask from a jacket pocket. 

"Holy Water," he clarified, shaking it out as Cas before tossing it alongside Ruby's old knife Sam had pulled from inside his jacket. 

Dean crossed his arms after a moment of silence, "There's more in the kitchen if you'd like to check, but this isn't our first rodeo, Cas. We know how to proof a room." As if to prove his point, Dean bent down at the corner of the nightstand, picking up not only one, but two hex bags. 

Cas shook his head, "This may have worked for you in the past, but this time is different." He received blank looks from both brothers. Cas rolled his eyes, asking for patience, "This town has a population of only 6,872, and less than an appropriate amount of motels such as this. It's only a matter of time until they come searching for you - you two may feel protected here, but when this establishment is surrounded, lacking food and ammo, you will feel differently." 

"Cas, you can hardly even walk. If we do leave - and that's a pretty big 'if' - will you even be able to get anywhere?" Dean asked cautiously. 

The Angel rolled his eyes, "I am an Angel of the Lord, Dean. A warrior of Heaven. I can and have handled worse wounds than this." 

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, trying to figure out their next move. It was true that since Cas had Fallen for them, sometimes it was difficult to remember that he actually was a soldier. Cas, their little guardian angel was actually trained to fight - to kill - demons and humans and other fully grown angels. 

"I did not risk my life for you two only to have you foolishly throw them away," Castiel stepped forward, raising a hand. "Now, are you going to leave or should I-" 

"Woah, woah!" Dean held up both hands, signaling the angel to halt. 

Sam looked between the two, not quite comprehending, but following his brother's lead and stepping back nonetheless. Cas lowered his arm slowly, his head tilting slightly to the side in an all too familiar fashion. 

"We talked about the zapping, Cas," Dean said, never taking his eyes from the blue ones in front of him. He'd been looking at those eyes for years now, and he should be used to them, he really should; he should be used to the way it pierces through him, making Dean squirm and fidget in the simplest of glances, how it feels as if Cas is peeling back the layers that makes Dean _Dean_ , unwrapping everything about him - every sarcastic remark, every lie - to reveal the very basis of himself. For a while it felt as if Dean had gotten past it, but in times like these, when Cas squints just so that his eyes get the slightest of crinkles, and the head tilt that makes his already messy hair bend and sway across his forehead, it all comes rushing back and any progress Dean thinks he made flies right out the window. 

So when Sam shifted his eyes between the two men, uttering a quiet "Dean?", Dean is instantly relieved of the stare. Cas turned his eyes instead onto the younger Winchester, following the man's arm to where his hand fidgeted towards the bed, where the weapons and angel blades sat.

Dean saw his little brother also, giving a small shake of his head as his hands lowered. "It's fine. Just not a fan of the zapping is all. It's freaky." 

"Zapped? Like -" Sam raised his arm, flapping them in a quick motion. 

"Flown, yes, Sam," said Cas, "and we're running out of time. I'm sorry, Dean, but flying would be our best option." 

Dean shook his head, turning around and scooping up the weapons on the bed. "No way, Jose." 

Cas narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to tell Dean that there was no Jose present, but Sam caught his eye, shaking his head. The two watched the older Winchester as he secured his gun back in his jeans. 

"Pack it up, Sammy, looks like we're splittin'." 

Cas stood a little straighter, smug; Sam rolled his eyes and went to get his backpack and laptop from the kitchen table. 

Dean shouldered the green canvas bag, walking towards Cas, who tried to reach out to him. Dean ducked, skillfully missing the outstretched hand until it was lowered. 

"Dean?" Cas asked. 

"No flying, Cas." 

Sam walked back in, his laptop case hanging off his shoulder. "Dean has a thing about flying," he stage-whispered to the Angel, smirking at Dean's immense bitch-face. A jingle sounded as a set of car keys flew through the air from Sam's open fist towards Dean, who caught it skillfully. "Impala or bust." 

XxX


	3. Beaten, Broken, Barely Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Previously:**
> 
> _"I did not risk my life for you two only to have you foolishly throw them away," Castiel stepped forward, raising a hand. "Now, are you going to leave or should I-"_
> 
> _"Woah, woah!" Dean held up both hands, signaling the angel to halt._  
> 
> _*.*.*.*.*_
> 
> _Sam walked back in, his laptop case hanging off his shoulder. "Dean has a thing about flying," he stage-whispered to the Angel, smirking at Dean's immense bitch-face. A jingle sounded as a set of car keys flew through the air from Sam's open fist towards Dean, who caught it skillfully. "Impala or bust."_

XxX

The Impala was normally a roomy car, and had surely held more than two hunters and an Angel before. However, with Castiel sprawled across the whole backseat, leaning over the front headrest to bark out directions, it felt more crowded than Dean could ever remember. 

And Cas couldn't have been comfortable back there either; when the brothers had tried to help him into the car, he had pushed them away, muttering about warriors of God not being delicate flowers. It would have been fine, even considering Sam's bitch-face to his brother that seemed to blame him for Cas' attitude about pain, except that the Angel had all but collapsed onto the worn leather, cramped and graceless. 

Now, Dean glanced in his rearview mirror and had to wonder how his friend could stand to stay like that for more than a few seconds: he had one elbow braced on the back of the front seat; his neck extending so he was level with the hunters'; his other arm was extended to direct on a turn, and resting on his other during the time between. He was perched on the edge of the bench seat in the back, one of his feet planted on the floor while the other stretched out. 

"Cas, you really should sit back," Sam said, pushing a trench coat-clad elbow out of his face, "you'll pull something..." he leaned forward to look at Dean, "Can that even happen?" 

Dean took his eyes off the road to meet his baby brother's eyes, "I don't know? We're not even sure what's wrong with him in the first place!" 

"Which is why _I_ suggested we pull over and find somewhere to fix him up, instead of driving around for two hours while Cas is _bleeding_ all over the backseat." 

"Where would you like to take him, Sam?" Dean said, his foot subconsciously lowering further on the gas pedal. He purposefully ignored the fact that the blood was going to be a bitch to get out later. "A hospital? And I suppose that you'll explain to the doctor how he got these wounds? And with what? And how he's still _walking_ when he's probably lost half of his blood? You heard him before, he can handle this," Dean turned green eyes back to the road, the white lines blurring before him at an alarming rate. "He has to," he said, low enough that Sam just barely heard it. 

"Here," came Cas' voice from the top of the headrest. The arm that had been draped over the leather lifted slowly, almost painfully, to indicate a small dirt road mostly covered over by foliage. The hunters would have missed it if not for the backseat driver; as it is, Dean had to make a sharp turn, making Sam grip the grab-handle and almost unseating Castiel. 

The Impala rumbled down the small dirt road at a much slower pace. The further into the growing shrubbery the hunters went, the less light shone in through the windows, the branches folding in one either side and grating on Baby, much to Dean's dismay. 

Further and further they went, Sam and Dean casting surreptitious glances at each other more than once. But on they went, as per Cas' quiet instructions from the backseat, until, all at once, the bushes became less oppressing, stopped grating on the car. There was a small clearing - not as picturesque as one would have liked, but rather an eerie, dark place, surrounded by wilted trees and overgrown grass. 

In the corner of the little clearing was a ramshackle house made of deep red bricks tarnished with age, and a simple black shingled roof that was missing a few slats. 

"Cas?" Dean asked slowly as he put the car in park. 

"This is safe," was the Angel's simple reply as he struggled to get himself sitting easier in the cramped space. Sam gave the house a disdainful look until he was forcibly pinned against the windshield; Cas had pushed the back of Sam's seat hard enough to move it out of the way, giving him easier access to the door. 

Cas clambered out, the passenger seat falling back into place with a thump. The Angel staggered a few steps, his long trench coat getting stuck under his muddy dress shoes. Dean was next out of the car, just remembering to pull out the keys before vaulting out of his seat and around the hood, leaving his door wide open. 

With the help of the newly-freed Sam, the two supported the Fallen Angel as they all walked towards the old house. It was clear Castiel was in much worse shape after the car ride based on just how much more heavily he was leaning on the brothers. 

By the time the trio made it to the front door, Cas was all but dragging his feet behind him, his head lolling slightly onto Sam's shoulder. 

A light kick was all it took to have the door open slowly, creaking on its hinges. The three trekked inside and laid the Angel down on a musty couch situated just a bit too left to be considered the middle. Cas rolled to face the back of the couch, curling in on himself. 

Sam and Dean stood over the couch, staring at their Fallen friend. Neither knew what to do, and couldn't even contact anyone who would know - Castiel was still a wanted Angel up in Heaven, and the Angels up there wouldn't bat an eyelash to help their friend, or worse, they'd speed up the process. 

So, they did what they knew instead. 

"I got demons, you get Angels?" Sam asked. 

Dean nodded, his eyes never fully leaving his friend. The two walked blindly through the small room, finally finding the same way they came in. A quick trip to the Impala was all it took for the boys to get the gear they would need to proof the house. 

Sam hauled in a bag of rock salt and white paint, while Dean carried with him two cans of red spray paint. They got to work, their minds relaxing as the two fell into the familiar creation of lines and painting of symbols and sigils. 

When they were done, and their spray cans exhausted, Sam and Dean were about ready to pass out themselves. Looking around the small room, they realized that, besides the already-occupied couch, there was no other furniture compatible to sleep on. There was, however, a rather large arm chair, covered with a sheet, that would not be the most comfortable place to sleep, but would be much better than the floor. 

Needless to say, Dean was the one to grab a sleeping bag from his Baby. 

*.*.*.*.*

The next morning found Dean wide awake, watching the sun rise through the splintered window. Sam was sleeping soundly in the armchair, his head thrown back, one leg spread out straight in front of him, the other wrapped over the arm, nearly touching the floor. 

Dean knew that Sam hadn't slept as soundly as he looked, having woken up periodically throughout the night, The younger Winchester would jerk awake, the old chair squeaking with every movement as he stood, padding quietly from room to room, sometimes checking on the Angel, sometimes simply walking around the room before resettling. Dean stayed still during these times, his decades of hunting waking him at any and all sounds, knowing that if his little brother saw him, Sam would insist on talking about what happened: about Cas, about Dad, about Hell, the Apocalypse - all the things Dean would have no trouble locking in a strong box and never thinking of again. 

But, as Dean's interrupted sleep came to an end with the rising sun, he knew there was no forgetting and no pretending. About Cas, at least. 

He stood up, stretching, joints popping from his rough sleeping quarters. He walked as quietly as he could, tiptoeing around his brother, keeping his eyes on the sleeping Angel as he passed the couch. 

Cas looked better, maybe not as pale as he was yesterday, though still not as he was before the hunt. His still bloodied clothes didn't help the matter either, adding to the look of sickness that clung around him like smoke. 

Dean shuffled to the small sink in the corner. It was a dusty, dirty little thing, the handles all rusty and tainted. His hand hovered over the handle. Dean stooped his head, making up his mind.

Pushing himself from the small counter, he walked the few steps back to the sleeping Angel. He stood over Cas, his mind troubled as he stared at his friend.

It just didn't make sense: Cas was an Angel of the Lord, no matter how much Grace was lost - even when he was slowly Falling, when his life-force, the thing that made Cas _Cas_ , was slowly, painfully leaking out of him - Cas was never human. Not like this. He didn't sleep like this. There hadn't been a wound in the years that the Winchesters knew him that hadn't healed in record time. A day, sure, Dean could give Castiel a day to recover, a day and a half, tops. But this was just ridiculous. 

Kneeling down, Dean reached a hand out, laying it gently on the Angel's side just above the gauze wrapped snuggly around his middle. Dean took a deep breath to steady himself before, confident that Cas wouldn't be waking anytime soon, he fitted his fingers between the wrappings, breaking the gauze and exposing the skin underneath. 

Well, what skin was left, at least. 

The skin underneath was all but disintegrated under the bandage, the edges of the gouge ripped and ragged, red and raw. The cut itself wasn't fatally deep - Dean knew from experience just how far a blade would have to go to hit anything major - though it still, after two days, glistened and dripped with blood, the usually red liquid tinged with a certain silver, making it almost shimmer in the moonlight. It took Dean a moment to realize that the silver was, in fact, bits of Castiel's Grace leaking from his vessel. 

The cut itself was only about the length of Dean's hand from fingertip to wrist, a wound that would ordinarily be stitched up by one of the brothers and left to heal on its own. However, that didn't seem to be working in Cas' case. 

When the Winchesters had first dragged Castiel into their motel room, they ran their normal routine, treating the Angel the same way they would a fellow hunter (maybe not for a victim or witness; people not in the business tended to get a bit squeamish during in-house DIY medical procedures. But hey, what are hospitals for, right?), including disinfecting, stitching, and dressing. But after only a few hours waiting for Cas to wake and much before he demanded the trio moved, Sam checked Castiel's condition. It was almost exactly the same as it was before it was treated: the stitches dissolved, raggedy edges poking out of each end, determined to leave some trace that they were ever there at all, and, with nothing holding the tattered skin together, it reverted the gash back to Open-Wound Status. 

Much was the same for the other three wounds dotting his chest and the two lining his arm. 

It did look a bit better now, Dean conceded, not as harsh, though that was largely due to Cas' complexion getting slightly back to its natural tan. 

A bit of blood dripped onto the hunter's hand, reflecting back at him in the morning light. Dean had the thought to reapply some of the antibacterial, maybe even try to resew the wounds, but decided against it, simply taping the bandage back into place with careful fingers. Sam was always better at that stuff anyway. 

Instead, he walked back to the sink, turning the water on without hesitation. The pipes, probably not used in years, squeaked, the water taking a minute to run clear before he dared to dive his hands under. Dean took a few gulps, the water flowing easily down his throat before collecting more in his hands and scrubbing his face. 

Turning his back to the counter, Dean slid all the way down, his legs tucked tight in front of him. He looked at the room around him - really looked at it, from his little brother laying cramped in an old armchair, clouds of dust puffing out from under his boot with every movement, to the ratty, mildew-stained rug that Dean had flipped at a corner, revealing the splintered and uneven floorboards. It looked quite sad, he thought to himself, in the dim light, the wallpaper peeling at the corners, the glass of the window next to the door cracked, not to mention his best friend laying all but dead on the couch. 

They were hiding out in this abandoned, ramshackle, about to collapse house from demons that wanted to kill them. Baby's paint was probably scratched from the countless branches they hit getting here, her backseat covered in the blood of his best friend. His best friend who happened to be an Angel of the Lord, stabbed and cut with an angel blade which left him unresponsive and comatose on a ratty old couch. His best friend who may be slowly dying while he sat and did nothing.

Dean put his head in his hands as he realized that this was actually his life. 

Which is exactly how Sam found his brother when he woke up a few hours later. 

"Dude?" he asked, squatting down and putting a hand on his brother's arm. Dean raised his head. "You okay?" 

Dean nodded, cleared his throat, and said, "Yeah. Yeah, Sammy, I'm fine." 

Wobbling to his feet, Dean stood, waving away his brother's helpful hands. He rolled his eyes at Sam's concerned look, walking forward towards Cas's makeshift bed. 

"I checked his chest earlier," he said, turning to his brother. "Couldn't sleep."

Sam nodded in understanding, "How'd they look?"

"Same as before: stitching gone, nasty cut." The brothers paused, looking at each other. "I just don't get it," Dean said, running a frustrated hand through his hair as Sam stepped up to the sleeping Angel. "He's been hit by angel blades before, it's never been like this." 

"I have no idea, Dean." he carefully undid the bandaging, much the same as Dean only a few hours before. "Maybe they were different blades? I mean, we didn't really get a good look at them." He looked at the wounds, making a face at the state of the gash. 

Dean rubbed his eyes, "Right about now, in any other case, we'd be calling Bobby."

"Or Cas," Sam added. "This sucks." 

 

*.*.*.*.*.*

 

"Dean, there's not going to be anything!" 

"C'mon, Sammy, it's worth a shot!"

Sam pulled his jacket from his brother's hands, "Why would there be an explanation in the _library_? Have you _ever_ seen anything _real_ on Angels? Or did I miss that section?" 

"Maybe we could find something!" the shorter man yelled back.

"Like what? _"Caring For Your Sick Angel For Dummies"_? Be serious, Dean."

"Then what would you suggest, Sam?" Sam didn't answer, his jaw clenching. "Exactly. We are out of ideas, Cas is hurt and is not waking up. If it was you or me on that couch - " Dean paused for just the slightest of seconds, the thought of Sam switching places with their Angel making him balk, " - you know Cas would use every option available." 

His little brother looked away, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. 

"Right. Now put this on, we're going to the library," Dean shoved Sam's jacket at him, the younger Winchester taking it on instinct. Dean walked the perimeter, checking all the sigils painted there before going to the door. "Sammy? C'mon, we're wasting daylight here." 

Dean was waiting by the door, holding it open for the other man, the cold morning breeze flooding in. 

Sam looked at him, and his brother could just see the wheels turning. When Sam spoke, it was softly, "What if there was another way? A faster way?" 

He pushed the door, closing it with a soft slam, "Like what?"

"Think about it, Dean, Cas is an Angel. Who better to help him than other Angels?" 

"Yeah, right," Dean scoffed, "'cause the ones we met were _so_ helpful. You know, I'll bet they'll just line right up to help Cas out; they'll help him right into a grave." 

"Just listen to me, Dean," Sam argued. "There's not going to be anything in the library. I know it and you know it. We have no idea what's going on, and neither does anyone born and raised on this Earth. Nothing here can help." 

"Sure, yeah, but, Sammy, the Angels hate us. They want to kill us. They want to kill _Cas_." 

Sam shook his head, an unfamiliar smirk crossing his features, "Not of all them. Not Joshua." 

"Joshua? Seriously, Sam?" The younger Winchester said nothing, just standing there with his smirk, one shoulder lifting. "The man hasn't been out of Heaven in more than a millennia." 

That fact didn't seem to bother him, "So we'll make him come down. Wouldn't be the first time we summoned an Angel against their will." 

He watched his older brother walk to the armchair in the corner, sitting down with a sigh, his elbows braced on his knees. "You're suggesting that we summon Joshua, the only direct connection to _God_ , from the _Garden of Eden_ to Earth?" Sam nodded. "And if, for some reason, we actually do get him down here, you want to force him to _not_ kill us, and help us save Castiel, a Fallen Angel." 

"Yeah." 

Dean watched his brother in silence for a few minutes, almost as if waiting for Sam to see the flaw in his plan. And even though his older brother's gaze made him the tiniest bit uncomfortable, it wasn't going to work. Sam had faith in his plan - well, more faith than the library idea. Plus, he was a lawyer at heart; the training may be buried in the way back of his mind, but it was still there, and lawyers love to argue, and hate to lose. 

"You said that Cas would use any option available for either of us. You said that if it was me on that couch you'd try anything. We've been in countless libraries across the country, there's never been anything substantial about Angels in any of them. That's why we always called on Bobby when things like this happened: he had hundreds of rare, one-of-a-kind, never before seen in languages only a handful of people can read." Here, Sam paused, letting all that sink in before continuing, "This is our anything. Joshua is the only Angel that we know of that is completely neutral - he's connected to God, noncommittal even in the Apocalypse and the Angelic Civil War. He's the most likely to help instead of playing Russian Roulette with who's going to smite Cas."

The two brothers were silent for a while, at a stand off. 

Finally, the elder spoke, "Do we even know how to summon him?" He raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing over his eyes.

This time, Sam smiled and threw on his jacket, "It shouldn't be that different from any other Angel."

XxX


	4. Plan B? C? More Like Z

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****  
> _Previously_
> 
> _"Sure, yeah, but, Sammy, the Angels hate us. They want to kill us. They want to kill _Cas_."_
> 
> _Sam shook his head, an unfamiliar smirk crossing his features, "Not of all them. Not Joshua."_
> 
> _*.*.*_
> 
> _"Do we even know how to summon him?" He raised a hand to his forehead, rubbing over his eyes._
> 
> _This time, Sam smiled and threw on his jacket, "It shouldn't be that different from any other Angel."_

XxX

 

As it turns out, summoning Joshua actually was different from other Angels. _A lot_ different.

The Winchesters had been trying to find the right combination of materials to summon Joshua for almost two hours. The hunters knew that every supernatural being had their own personalized combination of elements and words that could transport them anywhere, even against their will - it was only a matter of finding out what that combination was. 

They tried variations for summoning Raphael, Uriel, Michael, Balthazar, Gabriel, Anna, hell, even an alteration of Castiel's. 

The problem was that the hunters, for all their knowledge of the supernatural, were not supernatural themselves; they were not like the witches and shamans who could cook up their own spells and summonings. Every other time they brought an Angel to them, the spell was from a book or given to them by a very reliable source. 

But now, their sources were all but dead. No other Angel could be trusted. There was no book for summoning an Angel not meant to leave his place in the Garden. 

But still they tried. 

Each and every time, the same thing happened: the bowl exploded with a _pop_ , a fizzle of smoke emerged, the two brothers waiting anxiously behind their makeshift alter as the small bit of smoke cleared. Each time, they were left with the same empty stretch of land a little ways behind their little shack. 

Sam finally threw the last match into the scorched bowl, his head instinctively jerking away from the flame that erupted. Smoke rose from the bowl, but Sam blinked it away easily, so used to the pollutant by now that it didn't even sting anymore. He craned his head left to right, the bowl moving back to the table in favor of Ruby's old knife. 

The young hunter waited anxiously. He waited for any sign of divine presence, but none came. The knife clattered down onto the makeshift alter - a cheap metal table from their room that had one leg shorter than the rest, hidden under the flimsy tarp usually reserved for the Impala when the brothers needed to lay low - and leaned. With both palms flat, his back bowed, head hung low, Sam WInchester looked spent. 

Sam closed his eyes, coming to terms that either Joshua didn't want to be summoned and was tapping into a hell of a lot of angelic power to ignore them, or it was simply impossible to summon him. There was no other option. The two had invoked every possible way of communicating with the Angel, save for revisiting Heaven itself. At that point, the thought was scarily tempting to the young hunter. 

Over his shoulder, Sam could see Dean leaning against an old rusted junker, his arms crossed, gun held loosely at his fingers. He was the picture of relaxed, and if Sam didn't know what they were trying to do, he'd say Dean was waiting in the lot of a bar for his date. 

It kind of pissed him off.

Sam cursed as he stood to his full height and turned to face his brother. Dean was looking around, his head lazily swiveling from side-to-side as a low whistle inflicted the stifling silence. The younger Winchester stared for a bit, waiting until Dean noticed. When he did, Dean stopped whistling and shrugged his hands at the open area around him. 

"Well?" he asked. 

Sam ran a hand through his hair, "I, I don't know. It's not working." 

Dean pushed his hips off of the car, suddenly impatient, "I told you. Now, let's go into town and figure out our crap." 

"Dean," Sam let out a frustrated sigh, "the library isn't - "

"This isn't helping, Sam!" he took a few steps forward, waving his arms around, "We've been out here for hours - hours! - while Cas is rotting away inside! At least my plan is proactive; this - this 'summoning' is just about as effective as shouting his name to the sky!" With that, Dean turned away, holstering his gun in his jeans and picking up a jar of holy oil with a screech as the metal jug skated over the hood of the car. 

Standing alone now beside the alter, Sam balled his fists at his sides. Staring at his brother's retreating back, he called out, "Joshua!" He saw Dean's back tense up, stilling eerily before he swiftly turned back. 

Dean looked at his little brother like Sam had just grown three heads, shrunk four feet and was going to join the circus. 

Sam didn't care. No matter how unhelpful his plan had been, Dean's was worse. 

He screamed again, "Joshua!" The alter was in his way when he turned, bumping into his hips. A swift kick was all it took to upturn in, bowls and candles spilling onto the gravel under a heap of cloth. "Get down here, you pacifist Angel dick! You're supposed to _help_ people! Joshua!" 

Sometime during his little breakdown, Dean had come closer, a hand closing around Sam's elbow. 

"Sammy," Dean said, spinning his brother. Sam rubbed his eyes, which suddenly felt very, very tired. "Sammy, just relax. This - "

A rough breeze blew at the trees, swishing Sam's hair over his forehead. 

"Samuel Winchester," came a soft voice. "How nice to see you boys again; though, I would have hoped for a slightly more hospitable reception." 

"Joshua?" Sam whispered, slowly turning. Dean's arm slipped from his elbow. 

Sure enough, standing just past the upturned alter, was the Angel of Eden. He was much like the boys remembered him from their time in Heaven: dark skin, scruffy beard, loose-fitting jeans, and the aura of calm that became more unnerving the longer one conversed with him. 

Sam shook his head in disbelief, a smile pinching his cheeks, "It worked. No summoning?" 

Joshua spread his arms in front of him, palms up. "The power of prayer," he said softly. 

"That's it?" came Dean's rough voice. The gravel crunched under every step he took. His movements were slow, deliberate, _calculated_. "We've been out here for hours - _hours_ \- trying to get you, and all we had to do was yell?" 

"I am the caretaker of Eden. I cannot be summoned by human methods." 

"But you heard us," Dean continued, his grip on his gun tightening. "Standing here, we've said your name; if you're so tuned into the world and its Angels and Earth, there is no way you could have missed what was going on down here." 

"Prayer is a sign of faith," Joshua said, calm even in the face of Dean's ever-growing anger, "as I'm sure you've heard before. I could not intervene without it - "

"You want me to have _faith_? Let me tell you something, Featherfry - " 

Joshua looked over Dean's shoulder to Sam, one eyebrow raised at the name. Sam looked a bit sheepish, one shoulder shrugging at the Angel. 

Dean either didn't see it, or chose to ignore it, " - my faith that you or God were even real was non-existent until a few years ago. You know what I believed in? What I still believe in? Me. My family." 

"A noble thought," the Angel said. 

"Yeah, and d'you know what? Cas has become my family. If it came down to my life or his, I'd choose his. Because that's family. That's loyalty," Dean paused. "All you Angels preach this faith and righteousness, but when Cas - when your _brother_ is _dying_ you do nothing to stop it." 

"I was beyond my control. I cannot be summoned by tricks and spells, I have not been on Earth in many millennia; I could only come if you showed your faith." 

"I am getting real fucking tired of that line," Dean said, his fist rearing back far too fast for either Angel of man to stop him. 

Dean's fist caught Joshua's cheek with a deafening crack. The Angel's face snapped to the side, though he uttered no cry of pain. The hunter, on the other hand, had little time to celebrate his victory, as he yelled out a resounding "Fuck!" after impact. He held his right hand close to his chest, trying to quell the rush of pain. 

He really should have thought that through more. 

Sam rushed forward just after the hit, holding his brother by the top of his arms, positioning his body between his brother and the Angel. 

"Joshua?" Sam asked, watching anxiously as the Angel slowly turned his head back. There was a faint red mark where Dean struck, but it was quickly fading. 

"Dean," the Angel said, his tone eerily reminiscent of a disapproving father, "you should really watch your temper. It could get you in trouble one day." 

From behind him, Sam could almost _feel_ Dean's response; reaching blindly back, Sam stomped down on Dean's boot-clad foot, effectively stunting any comeback he might have had. 

"Joshua," Sam tried again. "Joshua, can you help Cas?" 

The Angel of Eden thought for a moment, cocking his head in a way resembling Cas. Perhaps it was an Angel thing. "I make a point to not get involved with human situations." 

"Cas isn't human." 

"No, not entirely. But he is getting there. Slowly, as time moves on, his Grace leaves him. Soon he will be." 

Both Winchesters were stunned to silence. A choked sputter came from Dean, "Wha- What do you mean?" 

"Castiel is sick," Joshua clarified. 

"Angels don't get sick," Sam said. 

"Not sick as you would call it. Humans would say.. poisoned, I believe." Joshua said this calmly, as if they were discussing the weather or a baseball game. 

The way the Angel said it infuriated the older Winchester just as much as what he actually said. "Cas was _poisoned_? By who? How?" 

"It's a very complicated kind of poison, one of the oldest and most lethal of its kind - " 

"Yeah, sure," Sam interrupted in an unusual flash of impatience. "We know it's bad; Cas is in bad shape. The question is: can you fix him?" 

"I cannot." 

The seconds ticked by amazingly slow. The silence was deafening, save for the slight rustling of trees. The brothers were tense. 

With a swiftness born only from years of experience, Dean had his gun up and raised, the clip emptying into the Angel's chest. 

One after another the lead rounds buried themselves deep within the Angel's flesh, his clothes staining with red that was quickly spreading. Each impact jerked the Angel back a step; his spine bowed with each bullet. 

Sam stood, transfixed as each shot hit their mark, the material of Joshua's shirt ripping violently under the pressure. It wasn't as if he had never seen someone get shot before - he had been on both sides of the barrel plenty of times - but rather the complete lack of concern the dark-skinned man had for the gruesome abuse of his body. That, coupled with the knowledge that Sam's very mortal brother was emptying a clip in a holy warrior of God who could very well dismantle the both of them with a thought, made the scene all the more unbelievable. 

The bullets came one after another in quick succession until finally, blissfully, there were no more left. It didn't matter to Dean; he kept pulling the trigger, the empty chamber clicking in a fruitless effort to comply. 

It took Sam's hand on his brother's arm to get the older Winchester to lower his weapon, and even still, his hand was white-knuckled around the grip. 

Both boys stared at the Angel - they never had really tried to shoot an Angel of the Lord before. Slowly, Joshua straightened his back, though he kept his head tilted towards the ground. Red droplets dripped from the edges of his shirt; the bullet holes hidden under the ripped fabric. 

The Angel brought a hand up, scratching at his beard as he leveled his gaze on the Winchesters. For a moment he only stared; Sam braced himself for a smiting, for a burst of white light he knew accompanied the horrible screams of the damned. If Angels could send demons who had been to Hell back, why not two human tourists? 

But there was no bright light, no blinding pain, none of the empty horror that was the Hell that Sam remembered. 

All there was was Joshua's unfaltering eyes and his brother's warmth next to him. 

"There's that temper again," the Angel of Eden said softly. Was that a smile pulling at his mouth? It was gone to quickly for either brother to make a definite conclusion. 

Beside Sam, Dean made an indignant sound. "Whatever," he ground out, holstering his gun roughly and turning his back half on the old man. "Let's get out'ta here, Sam, this clown can't help us." He swung his head around to give Joshua a dirty look, "We've already wasted enough time here." 

The younger Winchester cast a forlorn look at the Angel before nodding to his brother. Snatching up his own gun from the pile of littered ceremonial items, the two turned their backs on the Angel and walked measured steps back towards the little house. The gravel crunched under their boots, piercing the air, the breeze ruffling Sam's long locks and billowing in Dean's jacket; a scene that was eerily reminding of Castiel. 

When they got back to their shack, door stubbornly sticking to the frame, the lights had gone out. The switches wouldn't work, the matches wouldn't stay lit. 

After going through a whole pack of matches to no avail, Sam's patience had reached its limit. "What the hell, Dean!" He threw down the now useless piece of cardboard onto the floor, watching it flutter through the darkness, coming to rest among the rest of forgotten rubble. 

Dean, on the other side of the room, put down the lamp he was trying to fix to start walking the shack. He gave the couch still holding Cas a wide berth, Sam noticed. Dean pocketed his hand, aiming to produce another matchbook, when the door swung open, slamming hard against the wall. 

The two brothers turned to stare as the wind brought leaves tumbling in. 

Outside the shack, in the middle of the dark night, stood Joshua. 

XxX


	5. Second Guessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Previously:**
> 
>  
> 
> _"Cas was _poisoned_? By who? How?" _
> 
>  
> 
>  _"It's a very complicated kind of poison, one of the oldest and most lethal of its kind - "_  
> 
>  _"Yeah, sure," Sam interrupted in an unusual flash of impatience. "We know it's bad; Cas is in bad shape. The question is: can you fix him?"_  
> 
> _"I cannot."_
> 
>  ***.*.*.***  
>  _When they got back to their shack, door stubbornly sticking to the frame, the lights had gone out. The switches wouldn't work, the matches wouldn't stay lit._  
> 
>  ***.*.*.***  
>  _The two brothers turned to stare as the wind brought leaves tumbling in._  
> 
> _Outside the shack, in the middle of the dark night, stood Joshua._

XxX

Sam turned in his chair, his back twisting uncomfortably to see the open door. When he laid eyes on the Angel, he froze. Almost on their own volition, Sam's eyes flicked to his brother. 

Dean, who had already been standing, dropped the matchbook he had been holding. He took a step back away from the door, one hand reaching up to block his eyes from the wind. The two stared down each other, waiting for the other to flinch. 

While the other two were otherwise occupied, Sam stood silently, taking measured steps around the room. He came to a stop just a bit behind his brother, Sam's long body effectively blocking Castiel's form from Joshua. 

"What do you want?" Sam asked. Joshua held Dean's eye for a moment more before turning to the youngest member of the group. 

"Do not worry, young Winchester," he said, craning his head a bit to try to see Cas, "I'm not here to hurt him." 

"Then why? Why'd you come back?" Sam rearranged himself to block the view again. 

Joshua straightened, appraising Sam fully, silently, before turning an unwavering stare to Dean again. "You once lost your brother." 

It wasn't a question, but Dean still nodded. 

"You could not stop his death. Yet here he is, alive and well." 

Again, Dean nodded, this time his head turning the slightest to his brother, as if making sure he was still there. 

"I know the lengths you went to in order to bring him back," Joshua said. "The selflessness, the recklessness. The hours spent with theories and failed attempts; I know because I watched them. I watched them as they unfolded, Destiny and Faith thwarted so totally for the first time in millennia." the Angel paused for a moment, his eyes closing as if watching the events on replay behind his eyes. "You said that Castiel had become a part of your family, is that still true?" 

Dean nodded, his shoulders tensing a bit. 

"And you would go to the same lengths to save him as you would your own flesh and blood?" 

"I'd die for him in a second," Dean said immediately. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for him." It was only for half a second, but Dean spun his head to look at the Angel in question as he answered. 

Joshua evaluated the hunter's answer, bringing his fingertips up to his chin and closing his eyes. Finally, he seemed to come to some kind of conclusion within himself. He straightened up, "As would I. Now, if you would scrub away these - " his face contorted a bit, eyeing the building with disgust, " - sigils, we could talk more civilly indoors." 

Sam took this as his cue to step forward. "You already said you couldn't help us; what changed?" 

The Angel of the Garden inclined his head to the tall hunter, "If I'm allowed access I would be more than happy to explain." 

The two brothers shared a look before simultaneously turning to the walls. Each had a knife, Sam Ruby's and Dean a pocketknife, and each painstakingly scraped a line through each of the painted symbols. It took more time than one would have thought, the hunters having laid a thick coat of paint on each. 

Joshua, for his part, stood stock still just outside the building; he was silent, watching the Winchesters' progress through the windows. 

The moment the Angel Deterrents had been partially scraped, Joshua stepped over the threshold. He walked a measured pace towards Castiel, but the brothers blocked his path; Sam held a gun at his side. 

"You're not getting near him," Dean said, his arms crossed. "You wanted to explain, we're listening." 

Again, Joshua put his hands up and stepped back. "Very well. Castiel is in grave danger." 

Sam scoffed, "Yeah, we got that." 

The Angel shook his head, "You humans have no idea what you are dealing with here." 

"Enlighten us." 

"Castiel has been poisoned," Joshua started with a sigh. "It's an old method, a very rare way to kill an Angel, though as you can see, an effective one. He was attacked by demons, who are toxic to Angels." 

"Toxic?" Sam asked. 

The Angel nodded, "In their true forms, yes; in their vessels they are.. manageable. These were clever though, mixing part of their original forms into a physical manifestation." He looked up to the brothers, hoping they would understand. They hadn't. "Their blood. The demons took their blood, which is as direct a link to their form as Angels are in their Grace. If they had blood-to-blood contact, such as drips directly into a wound, or, judging on little Castiel's wounds over there, soaked onto an Angel Blade."

"So you Angels have known about this poison, have seen it before?" Dean asked. 

Joshua nodded, "It has been known since demons first roamed the Earth." 

"Well, how do you deal with it? What's the antidote?" 

"The antidote?" 

Sam saw it, but Dean was too excited, his eyes watching his hands as they made extravagant movements. "Yeah, the antidote, you know, the cure, the antiserum, the thing to make him wake up. Every poison has one in some form. Surely after thousands of years you guys found _something_ to fix it." 

"There is no simple antidote or cure," Joshua said. Sam almost flinched at the tone in his voice; it was thrumming with power, barely restrained frustration underlaid every word. "This poison has not been seen for a very long time. It is a very, very difficult, high-level spell which is no small feat and requires nothing but absolute determination and focus to even begin to try and reverse the damage." 

"So no antidote, but a reversal," Sam said. "How do we do it?" 

"To reverse it, you must first understand what is happening. This kind of poison kills an Angel slowly, painfully, which is why Castiel would have been alert and awake earlier compared to his now comatose state. When an Angel takes a vessel, they get.. attached. Physically. In order for a regular human to take on the full force of an Angel - unless they were destined to be, as you -"Joshua inclined his head towards Dean, "were to Michael and Sam to Lucifer - the vessel must be fortified; the Angel's Grace fuses with the vessel's bloodlines. 

"Okay," Dean said, " So Cas is connected to his vessel. I could have told you that." 

The Angel watched Dean with pitying look, as if he were missing a very important point. "The blood injected into him with the Blade has made its way into Castiel's blood. It's toxic to our kind, mixing with divine Grace, corrupting the very being that defines an Angel. Without it, he will Fall; after going through that extremely painful process, the demon's blood would continue to live in his veins, driving him mad and weak until he would be begging for you to kill him." 

The three men looked to their friend lying on the couch, focusing on the red stains still visible, still growing underneath the bandages. They were silent. 

"You said there was nothing you wouldn't do for him?" Joshua's voice was lower, gentler, as he asked Dean again. 

Dean's gaze watched Cas a moment longer before locking with Joshua's. "Absolutely." 

"And you?" he asked Sam. 

Sam cleared his throat, "Whatever it takes." The Angel held eye contact with the younger hunter, appraising the truth of his words. The hunter's stare was unwavering, resolved. 

Joshua sighed. "Very well. There is a way to try to reverse it, as I said. It will be dangerous, you may end up dead by the end of it." 

The brothers shared a look; it was a brief look, a considering look, a determined look. 

It was Dean who answered, his arms crossed over his chest, "Yeah, that's nothing really new to us." 

Sam just barely suppressed a snort. 

** *.*.*.*.* **

There was silence. A tense silence that usually comes at a family meeting, when one's waiting for an explosion, when the ball's been dropped, when one just simply can't comprehend what just happened. 

"You want to do _what_ to Cas?" Sam asked, his voice a pitch higher than usual. 

Joshua was the picture of calm, sitting comfortably at the table. "It's the only way, Samuel," he said. 

Dean paced annoyingly behind Sam's chair. Each _thud, thud_ of his boots pushing its way into Sam's head. "So - so you're saying," Sam said, "we can't save Cas until we've taken Cas _out_ of Cas?" 

"Precisely." 

Sam sighed, pushing his hands into his hair, "Dean? Anything?" 

The pacing stopped. Sam took a breath, hoping his head would stop pounding now. They started up again a moment later and he cursed, pushing the heel of his palms into his eyes. 

"Getting Cas into another vessel, it's like possession? He'll be normal again?" Dean asked. 

"Yes and no," the Angel answered. "Castiel will be inhabiting another body, yes, but he would not have control over that body. You have seen it in some demons - as much as I cringe at making connections between us and them, we are similar in many ways - where the demon can give control _back_ to the one possessed. Castiel, when placed in a new vessel, will not be able to control or take over the vessel; his Grace will still be mostly fused with his original vessel." 

"Then what's the damn point?" Dean snapped. 

"Changing Castiel's remaining Grace and being will not save him," Joshua explained patiently. "It will only buy you time until the more permanent solution can be achieved." 

Dean stopped pacing; Sam picked his head up and spun in his chair. The two brothers looked at each other, Sam's had his eyebrows raised, Dean shrugged. 

"So," Dean said, his arms crossing tighter over his chest, "one of us can -?" 

"No," the Angel said, cutting the hunter off immediately.

There was silence. 

The hunters stared: Dean at Joshua, Sam alternating between his brother and the Angel. Sam wondered if he would have to jump in between the two soon; Joshua was being vague - on purpose, Sam would bet, as most Angel seem to enjoy being - and Dean was looking murderous. On any given day he had a short temper for intentionally misleading things, but throw in someone he cares about in danger, and the fuse just got a whole lot shorter. 

"Want to explain that, Apple-boy?" he said tightly. 

Joshua chose to ignore the name, "Neither of you could hold Castiel." 

"And why not?" This time Sam asked before Dean could yell. 

The Angel turned warm eyes on to the youngest, "To carry an Angel against the Angel's will, the bearer must be pure." 

"Pure?" The older Winchester said, taking a step forward. "We stopped the friggin' Apocalypse! We helped the Angels - "

"You fought against Heaven." 

Dean stopped talking, his jaw closing with a snap. 

"Nevertheless," he continued, "that is not the issue. Pure _of heart_ is more appropriate; Chaste and pure of heart." 

That gave Dean pause, his mouth half formed around a response. Sam smirked, turning his whole body around to watch his brother squirm. 

"Yeah, uh," Dean said, clearing his throat, "that's, uh, that's not gonna work to well." 

At that, Sam laughed once, a loud sound he smothered quickly at Joshua's hard glance. "So once we've found the virgin, how do we get Cas... in them?" he finished awkwardly, looking to his brother for a better way to end the thought. 

Joshua seemed unfazed by the wording, a piece of paper and a pen materializing in his hand. He spoke as he wrote, "It's a relatively simple spell - a few words in Old Enochian, a mixture of a few herbs, and a small sacrifice." 

Almost immediately after muttering the last word, Sam sat up straight, his neck swinging up from where it was watching the Angel write so fast he got a small pang of whiplash; Dean stopped on a dime, his back going rigid, his eyes narrowing, his hand itching to reach for his brother. 

"Sacrifice?" they said together. 

It was then that the Caretaker of Eden looked up, his pen poised a millimeter above the paper. "This is old magic, almost as old as the Angels themselves. In order to be taken seriously, there of course must be some loss involved." 

The brothers didn't say anything, just stared at the Angel. who had resumed his writing.

"Oh, don't look so alarmed Winchesters," he said, "it's only some blood. Not even your own; it's of the incoming vessel. Only enough to get the point across." 

Dean nodded after a moment, his shoulders relaxing just enough. Sam, however, was left a bit more uneasy at the prospect of getting a virgin to give up their own blood to house an Angel for a few hours. 

XxX


	6. Balking In The Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Previously:**
> 
> _"Changing Castiel's remaining Grace and being will not save him," Joshua explained patiently. "It will only buy you time until the more permanent solution can be achieved."_
> 
> _"It's a relatively simple spell - a few words in Old Enochian, a mixture of a few herbs, and a small sacrifice."_
> 
> _Dean nodded after a moment, his shoulders relaxing just enough. Sam, however, was left a bit more uneasy at the prospect of getting a virgin to give up their own blood to house an Angel for a few hours._

"White candles, petrified wood, holy water," Sam read, his voice carrying over the rumble of the engine. 

Dean shrugged, his eyes fixed on the road in front of him, "That doesn't sound so bad; we've got most of that right here in the trunk." 

"Ah, but that's not even the best part." Sam's voice took on one the tone of someone trying extremely hard not to laugh, "Tongue of desert-horned lizard, ashes of the faithful, holy oil - I wouldn't even know where to even _start_ looking for some of these things." 

"Well then we'll figure it out, okay, Sam?" Dean said, a little defensively. "We'll do some research and get our hands on it so we can do the stupid spell and get Cas straightened out." 

The paper rippled in Sam's hands. He stayed silent, quieted by the truth that there truly was no other course of action. 

As they drove, the streetlights passed overhead, creating oblong shadows on the passengers. With the brothers cast in the half drifting darkness, they truly did look like the wandering killers that they were. 

A simple click undid Sam's seatbelt and allowed him the freedom of movement to contort himself over the bench seat of the Impala. Dean sputtered as his brother's side swayed with a turn, coming a bit too close for comfort, but Sam was already re-seated. 

Dean got the car back under control and in the proper lane, giving his brother the ultimate big brother stare.

Sam shrugged innocently and held up the laptop he had picked up from its case in the backseat, "Research."

Dean watched him for a moment before rolling his eyes and going back to the road. The other Winchester, in true little brother form, smirked as the computer warmed up, making sure it was gone by the time Dean turned back.

** *.*.*.*.*.* **

_Click. Tap, tap, tap. Click clack._

Pause. 

Dean breathed a sigh of relief...

_Tap, tap. Click click. click clack._

Which quickly turned to a growl...

_Clack clack. Tap tap. Click, click._

Dean was seriously considering whether or not it would be worth it to smash his brother's computer. He watched his brother tap away first two- then one-handedly, using the other hand to scoop up a forkful of salad, his eyes never leaving the screen. He stared his little brother down through a bigger-than-humanly-possible bite of food, chewing slowly.

"What?" Sam asked, finally lifting his hands from the plastic marching band.

"Can you stop with the annoying clicking for twenty minutes?" Dean answered through a mouthful of food.

"Seriously?" he scoffed. "I would have thought you would have been all for more research; y'know, seeing how it's for _Cas._ "

The older Winchester paused for a half of a breath, " _'As how it's for Cas'_? What's that supposed to mean? I'm all for researching a job, just not button smashing twenty four-seven." 

Sam leaned back in his seat, "I'm just saying that I didn't expect lunch breaks until Cas was out of harms way. "

The two brothers held eye contact with each other, Dean finishing the food in his mouth as his hands lowered the burger back to the plate. Dean wiped his hands together before addressing Sam, "Look, Sam. It's been four hours since Joshua flew the coop; we've already figured out what most of that stuff is, he said the spell is simple. There's nothing left to find - " Sam's eyes flicked to the screen. Dean slid the computer closer to him, " - and you have to stop typing or I'm getting my gun."

Sam lifted his hands off of the table, "Alright, but it's going to take a lot of leg work to find all the stuff. Plus how are we going to find a..." he looked around, lowering his voice to a whisper, "a virgin willing to be possessed by _Cas_? Anyone would call the cops, send us to the nuthouse just for suggesting it." 

Dean shook his head, "Got that covered Sammy." 

Sam gave his older brother a disbelieving stare. He closed his laptop with a soft _click_ and watched his brother dig into his food with his customary wink. The younger Winchester rolled his eyes and picked back up his fork. 

"Whatever, Dean." If his brother thought he knew a _virgin_ \- regardless of the person's belief in Falling Angels - was laughable. 

"What?" the other asked. "You don't believe me?"

"I believe that you'll keep the Impala working, that you have my back while we're hunting, that you won't turn me into the cops for kicks. I also believe that if the subject of virginity came up with some girl, that got solved pretty quickly; that or your losing your touch with the ladies."

As Dean's face crumpled into a highly unflattering imitation, Sam felt a bit smug, biting into his salad with a smile. In the distance, bell chimes could be heard signaling the start of a new hour, a common occurrence in a town this small. Dean checked his watch. 

"Fine," the older Winchester said, "I'll prove it to you. C'mon, I know exactly where he'll be." Dean stood from the table and started to walk towards the door after throwing down a few bills. 

Sam watched him go before, with a forlorn look at his food, following him out. "Dean, wait up!" 

By the time Sam hit the sidewalk, Dean was halfway down the street. Picking his speed up to a run, Sam tried to catch his older brother. When there was only a few feet - and closing fast - between them, Dean turned his torso and held his arm outstretched; he held the keys to the Impala with two fingers, jingling them together at his brother. When Sam reached him, Sam pushed the arm away with a laugh. 

"Jerk," he said, slowing down the last few feet to the car. 

Dean laughed as he crossed to the driver's side, "Bitch." 

The doors squeaked when they opened, one brother ducking his head a few moments after the other to get inside. 

"Dean?" Sam asked, keeping his head over the roof. 

Dean's head popped back up and leaned his arms on the roof.

"Did you say 'he' before?" 

The elder Winchester shrugged. "Yeah." Taking advantage of Sam's split-second speechlessness, he slid into the car, leaving Sam no other option but to follow with a scoff. 

The Impala started up with a familiar rumble under the brothers. Dean pulled out of the parking spot faster than any normal human being would - at least according to Sam - and onto the road, head bobbing to the mullet rock blasting from the speakers. Sam let his brother blow his eardrums out and sing along for a few blocks, before the stares of the small-town folks became too frequent for a pair trying to blend in and leave no trace; it was then that he leaned forward, turning off the stereo with one push. Dean's voice carried a note before cutting off abruptly. 

He looked over at his brother quickly, "Dude! Never touch a man's stereo!" 

Sam didn't answer him, taking a minute to gather his thoughts and pick the right words; he had never thought about this situation, what to say, how to say it, and he only had one shot. 

"Dean," he said finally. 

Dean's hand stopped halfway to the stereo. He recognized that tone of voice. Not many good things came from that tone of voice. 

"Dean, look, you know I don't care what you... do, right?" Sam said. 

The older Winchester's eyebrows knitted together. "Uh, sure. Thanks, Sammy." 

"No, no. You're my brother and nothing you do could change that, alright? So if you and this guy..." he seemed to stutter and choke on his words. "If that's your _thing_ now - or had always been, I mean - then you don't have to hide because I under - "

"Wait, what?" Dean said loudly, drowning out his brother's voice. "Sam what are you talking about?" 

By now Sam was sure his face was beet red. "Well, you said you knew a virgin that could help us out. A _guy virgin_. I mean, I don't think that comes up in regular conversation so things must have been getting on pretty well. Especially if he knows about what we do." Sam was talking fast, trying to get everything out before he lost his nerve. "The last person I know of who you told was Cassie and you guys were pretty exclusive, but if something changed between then and no-" 

"Sam. Sammy." The car had stopped, pulled slightly to the curb. Dean, who almost never buckled his belt, swiveled in the bench seat to fully face his brother. "A priest." 

"A priest?" he repeated dumbly. His brother was with a priest? Gay for a priest? One he could get behind - the idea only of course - but with a _priest_? How does that even happen; don't they take vows or something? 

In front of him, Dean rolled his eyes, reaching out one leather-covered arm past his face, so close Sam could smell the scent so familiar to him it could give flashbacks. It brings back memories of the backseat, his legs too short to touch the bottom, dangling so easily and freely in what seemed to be the biggest space imaginable; he remembers coloring books and army men filling the seat, the endless battles with Dean as strategy was shouted from the front seat by their Devils-advocate father. All of those hours came rushing back to the young Winchester in the few seconds Dean's arm demands his attention. 

But, as Sam caught his brother's eye, Dean nodded his head. Sam followed the line of Dean's body, from head to shoulder down his arm, until Sam finally looked past Dean's pointed hand to where it was aimed at a building. A very old, wooden building with gothic stained-glass windows and towering doorways. It was relatively small in width, though the roof continued to rise and rise above the spattering of trees, tapering off into a steeple. 

Oh. 

A church... 

"Right, right," Sam said, clearing his throat. "All priests take a vow of chastity." 

When Sam tore his eyes away from the house of worship, Dean was looking at him in the strangest way. Sam could feel a blush start to bloom on the back of his neck. 

This one time, Dean decided to let it slip - choosing to mock his brother later in favor of protecting Castiel's welfare - and Sam was eternally grateful for his brother in that moment. With a single roll of his eyes, Dean's arm retracted as he extricated himself from the Impala. Sam did the same. 

"You're a freak, you know that?" Dean said as he crossed the front. Well, maybe he couldn't hold back _all_ the way. And if that was all he was going to say, Sam would let it slide. 

The two brothers walked side-by-side up the steps to the church. As Sam was about to push open the door, Dean slapped his chest. Sam stopped. Dean pointed to the sign on the lawn. 

It read: 

**Old Wyndom Church**

**Services 8:00, 10:00, 2:00, 5:00**

**All Are Welcome**

Sam checked his watch. Service was in session. 

** *.*.*.* **

For a relatively small building, the church was packed to the brim. Row after row, pew after pew was filled, and Sam was awkwardly standing in the back. 

When the boys had realized that service had only just started, Dean had turned tail back to the Impala. 

"Dean," Sam had called after him, stepping down the few steps. "Dean, where are you going?" 

Dean stopped just in front of the hood, his keys already in hand, "I'm not going to go in there and sit for an hour while Cas is comatose on our couch." 

"So you just want to give up? Because this was _your_ idea, and we don't seem to have any other." 

"No one ever said we were giving up; I said I wasn't sitting around doing nothing," there was a pause as the keyring twirled around a finger and he thought. Then, as if a lightbulb flashed, Dean snapped a finger, "Okay, plan; I'll go scour the town for whatever the hell we need for the spell. You stick around here and talk to the priest." 

Sam could almost feel the smugness radiating off of him. He was not so amused. 

"Let me get this straight," Sam said slowly. "You want me to go convince a priest to play host to a _Falling Angel_ for a day or two while we conduct a _spell_ to cleanse the Angel while you go _shopping_?" 

"Yeah, pretty much," Dean nodded. "Let's get to it." 

He went to turn away but Sam was not having it, reaching a hand out to grab his brother's leather jacket and pull him back into their conversation. 

"Hey!" the older Winchester protested, pulling his arm away. 

"Dean! I'm going to get five words out and this guy's going to send me to the nuthouse!" 

"No he's not, Sam. You throw a little puppy-dog eyes his way, and we're all good." 

"Then I'll come get the stuff with you and then we'll both go talk to him. If there's two of us, we'll have a better chance of not getting arrested." 

"Sam, stop!" Dean raised his voice. 

"Dean?" His brother almost never shouted, and now, Dean looked like a caged animal. 

"I'm not going in there, Sam. I can't." 

Sam waited. The 'why' was implied, and they both knew Dean would have to be explaining this one. 

Dean rubbed a hand over his forehead, like he had to work up to what he was about to say. Sam had no doubt that that was exactly what he was doing. After all, admitting anything vaguely concerning feelings seemed to be a challenge unless it was during a life-or-death situation. 

"I can't Sam," he got out finally. "I can't sit in there while some priest rambles on about God and God's glory or will or... or divine mercy while Cas, the most obedient and heartfelt guy- Angel - whatever, is dying. I won't be able to take it. Not when we know the truth. Hell, I mean, God's not even around, remember? He checked out a long time ago and yet... yet these people are still praying to him. There's so much false hope and faith and these people deserve to know the truth even if they don't want to. Even if it'll ruin them. I can't sit there in silence while that bullshit is preached. I'll end up walking out or punching out the priest and then we definitely won't get the guy to trust us." 

Sam stayed quiet, simply nodding. "Okay," he cleared his throat. "Okay, you go get the stuff, I'll check out the priest." 

"Okay, keep me posted." Dean turned swiftly, walking around the hood of the car and slipped in seamlessly as Sam started the walk back to the towering doors. The familiar rumble sounded behind him as the Impala started up, though there was no indication of it leaving anytime soon. 

When Sam wrenched open the church door and stepped inside, the sounds started louder than before, before slowly dying down. Sam smiled to himself at his brother; even now, with Sam nearly thirty, Dean waited until he knew his brother was safe and sound inside. 

But as Sam looked out over the congregation inside, he felt a pang of admiration for them. No matter what Dean said - and how much sense it made, as Sam had a bit of trouble not gritting his teeth when the Angels were invoked to help the sick and watch over the helpless - to have as much faith as these people did was impressive. 

These people believed so much and so intently that they gave up an hour each week to come and pray. Some, more than that. Any hardship these people had, they found comfort and guidance here; it was a sanctuary. 

Sam used to be like that. Obviously, he was never the avid church-goer, but he prayed. It started when he was very young, ten maybe, and he realized his father did dangerous work, even if he wasn't sure exactly what that danger was. He'd pray every night for his father's safety, for John to come home to them; he'd pray to Mary when he was scared or upset; later, when Dean was brought along on hunts with John, he'd pray for him too. It had worked well, had made him feel more at ease in those lonely hotel rooms, made him not have to hold his .45 through the whole night. 

If he was being truly honest, he wasn't sure if it was better to actually know the truth about the Angels. 

Before he realized it, the congregation was standing, was saying the final prayer as the priest descended from the altar. Sam pushed himself close to the wall beside the door as person after person filed outside past him, giving out uncomfortable smiles to many of the patrons that greeted him like an old friend. 

Finally, _finally_ , the foyer was all but cleared out, only a few people milling around. 

The priest had just finished speaking to a man in a tailored suit when Sam walked up to him. 

"Excuse me, father," he said politely. "Can I speak to you for a moment?" 

XxX


	7. Divine Help

Sam wasn't sure where to start. His plan was to figure out a plan during the service, but that didn't really happen. He totally blamed his distraction on the fact that he hadn't been to a church in years. 

The hunter cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable under the priest's stare. "Father, I seem to have a situation," he started. "One that needs your assistance, if you're willing." 

"God can help in many ways, son, and I try to follow that example. If there is any way I can help, I will," he said. 

"That's - that's good. But see, my... my problem is sort of - ," Sam tried to find the right word, " - unique?" Sam waited for some kind of response to the odd start, but the priest just waited; the hunter opened his mouth, ready to tell the truth to someone outside of his line of work for the first time in a while, when a woman sidled up to the two. 

The woman was short, even shorter than Dean, and she was dressed in her Sunday best with a kid in tow. As she approached, she looked between the two men, most likely, she was waiting until Sam had finished his conversation before starting her own. Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. 

Sam closed his mouth, unsure of where to go with it now. The priest must have noticed Sam's discomfort because he suggested quietly, "If you'd like, we could speak privately."

"Y-yeah, that'd be perfect, actually," Sam said, clearing his throat.

"Alright, I'll meet you in my chambers after my congregation clears out, Mr...?"

"Winchester," he supplied. Hell, if he was going to give this guy the truth he might as well go for broke, right?

He smiled at the woman once before navigating his way through the church crowd and down the hallway towards the priests' chambers.

"Father, I'm going to be completely honest with you right now," Sam started. 

He had sat in the small office for a few minutes, racking his brain trying to figure out what the best way to tell someone that demons were real and a whole supernatural world was right outside the door. He had thought back over the years, when he and his family had to explain this other world to regular people; the problem was, in all of those situations, the people had already been exposed to that world. They were the ones that had seen the ghost, or were hurt by the demon, or knew the wendigo's victim. 

So, he was back at square one. Pure honesty. 

He kept the story shallow, the smallest amount of supernatural as possible; he and his brother worked in the supernatural, helped people defend themselves against the bad ones, and occasionally the good. He had had to specify that he and Dean were not supernaturally inclined - not counting the few times that they were - a few times, and treaded carefully around their meeting an actual Angel. He couldn't very well say that Cas had come to rescue Dean from Hell after selling his soul, so he settled on the simple "an Angel appeared to them one day, asking for help." 

As Sam spoke, he cringed. He knew what this sounded like, he could hear himself, and he knew that the only logical next step would be for the priest to call the police to come and haul Sam to the nearest nuthouse. 

The sad part was that it wouldn't be Sam's first time down that road. 

What the hunter didn't count on, however, was that he was not talking with a normal person; he was speaking with a man of faith. A man of such faith that he devoted his whole life to it, who lives and breathes everything his religion has to offer, and couldn't see a life without it. 

"So, Mr. Winchester... you know an Angel? An actual Angel of the Lord?" the priest asked softly. Sam nodded. "Then you are truly blessed. The Lord must find you worthy of a task so important, to be battling the army of Hell on Earth and protecting all that He has made." 

Sam tried, honestly he did, but he couldn't hold in a quick bark of laughter. The priest's head snapped to attention, skepticism running wild in his eyes. 

"Something funny?"

He smothered the laugh with a cough, serious once again. "No, sorry, Father, it's just that...." How do you tell a priest that you are the furthest thing from "blessed" and "worthy"? "...no one's ever seen it that way." 

"Perhaps you've been talking to the wrong people," he waved a hand, dismissing the conversation. "Regardless, I get the impression that you don't share this with many..?"

Sam shook his head no. 

"Then why now?" 

The hunter cleared his throat, sliding in his seat to lean in closer to the man of faith. This was the hard part, he had to handle this carefully. "We need your help," he started. "The Angel, Castiel - " he ignored the slight gasp the priest let out and forged on, " - he got hurt on a job. I'm not going to lie to you, Father, it's pretty bad. He used the last of his strength to keep us safe and we need to return the favor." 

The priest said nothing. 

"He, uh, he's losing his Grace. Slowly, probably painfully, but we're not sure because he's not waking up. Me and my brother, we have a plan to get him back to normal, but we can't do it until Castiel is safely out of his vessel - the human body he's inhabiting - and we need a pure body to hold his consciousness while we perform it." 

Sam waited, his knee bobbing while the priest digested what Sam had said. He hoped that the older man understood what he was implying - he wasn't keen on actually saying the words _we need your body so an Angel can posses it._ It made him feel creepy. 

The priest simply stared down at the top of his desk; Sam thought for a moment he was praying, he was so quiet. 

"Which is why you need me." It was a statement, a fact. Sam didn't answer. "If what you're saying is true, it is my duty to help in any way that I can." 

The hunter let out a long sigh, finally relaxing in his seat, "Thank you, Father." 

He didn't realize it then, but that was probably the only time he said those words in years. 

XxX


	8. Convince Me Not

Sam wasn't sure where to start. His plan was to figure out a plan during the service, but that didn't really happen. He totally blamed his distraction on the fact that he hadn't been to a church in years. 

The hunter cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable under the priest's stare. "Father, I seem to have a situation," he started. "One that needs your assistance, if you're willing." 

"God can help in many ways, son, and I try to follow that example. If there is any way I can help, I will," he said. 

"That's - that's good. But see, my... my problem is sort of - ," Sam tried to find the right word, " - unique?" Sam waited for some kind of response to the odd start, but the priest just waited; the hunter opened his mouth, ready to tell the truth to someone outside of his line of work for the first time in a while, when a woman sidled up to the two. 

The woman was short, even shorter than Dean, and she was dressed in her Sunday best with a kid in tow. As she approached, she looked between the two men, most likely, she was waiting until Sam had finished his conversation before starting her own. Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. 

Sam closed his mouth, unsure of where to go with it now. The priest must have noticed Sam's discomfort because he suggested quietly, "If you'd like, we could speak privately."

"Y-yeah, that'd be perfect, actually," Sam said, clearing his throat.

"Alright, I'll meet you in my chambers after my congregation clears out, Mr...?"

"Winchester," he supplied. Hell, if he was going to give this guy the truth he might as well go for broke, right?

He smiled at the woman once before navigating his way through the church crowd and down the hallway towards the priests' chambers.

*.*.*.*.*.*

"Father, I'm going to be completely honest with you right now," Sam started. 

He had sat in the small office for a few minutes, racking his brain trying to figure out what the best way to tell someone that demons were real and a whole supernatural world was right outside the door. He had thought back over the years, when he and his family had to explain this other world to regular people; the problem was, in all of those situations, the people had already been exposed to that world. They were the ones that had seen the ghost, or were hurt by the demon, or knew the wendigo's victim. 

So, he was back at square one. Pure honesty. 

He kept the story shallow, the smallest amount of supernatural as possible; he and his brother worked in the supernatural, helped people defend themselves against the bad ones, and occasionally the good. He had had to specify that he and Dean were not supernaturally inclined - not counting the few times that they were - a few times, and treaded carefully around their meeting an actual Angel. He couldn't very well say that Cas had come to rescue Dean from Hell after selling his soul, so he settled on the simple "an Angel appeared to them one day, asking for help." 

As Sam spoke, he cringed. He knew what this sounded like, he could hear himself, and he knew that the only logical next step would be for the priest to call the police to come and haul Sam to the nearest nuthouse. 

The sad part was that it wouldn't be Sam's first time down that road. 

What the hunter didn't count on, however, was that he was not talking with a normal person; he was speaking with a man of faith. A man of such faith that he devoted his whole life to it, who lives and breathes everything his religion has to offer, and couldn't see a life without it. 

"So, Mr. Winchester... you know an Angel? An actual Angel of the Lord?" the priest asked softly. Sam nodded. "Then you are truly blessed. The Lord must find you worthy of a task so important, to be battling the army of Hell on Earth and protecting all that He has made." 

Sam tried, honestly he did, but he couldn't hold in a quick bark of laughter. The priest's head snapped to attention, skepticism running wild in his eyes. 

"Something funny?"

He smothered the laugh with a cough, serious once again. "No, sorry, Father, it's just that...." How do you tell a priest that you are the furthest thing from "blessed" and "worthy"? "...no one's ever seen it that way." 

"Perhaps you've been talking to the wrong people," he waved a hand, dismissing the conversation. "Regardless, I get the impression that you don't share this with many..?"

Sam shook his head no. 

"Then why now?" 

The hunter cleared his throat, sliding in his seat to lean in closer to the man of faith. This was the hard part, he had to handle this carefully. "We need your help," he started. "The Angel, Castiel - " he ignored the slight gasp the priest let out and forged on, " - he got hurt on a job. I'm not going to lie to you, Father, it's pretty bad. He used the last of his strength to keep us safe and we need to return the favor." 

The priest said nothing. 

"He, uh, he's losing his Grace. Slowly, probably painfully, but we're not sure because he's not waking up. Me and my brother, we have a plan to get him back to normal, but we can't do it until Castiel is safely out of his vessel - the human body he's inhabiting - and we need a pure body to hold his consciousness while we perform it." 

Sam waited, his knee bobbing while the priest digested what Sam had said. He hoped that the older man understood what he was implying - he wasn't keen on actually saying the words _we need your body so an Angel can posses it._ It made him feel creepy. 

The priest simply stared down at the top of his desk; Sam thought for a moment he was praying, he was so quiet. 

"Which is why you need me." It was a statement, a fact. Sam didn't answer. "If what you're saying is true, it is my duty to help in any way that I can." 

The hunter let out a long sigh, finally relaxing in his seat, "Thank you, Father." 

He didn't realize it then, but that was probably the only time he said those words in years. 

*.*.*.*.*.*

Sam shifted from foot to foot under the hot sun. The priest stood next to him, a duffel bag at his feet. Father Steven didn't seemed fazed by the heat, cloaked in his black vestments without even a hint of discomfort, where Sam had foregone his usual attire, settling for jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, and was still wishing he had worn shorts. 

The two had left the church after the last of the patrons from the earlier mass had all departed and walked next door to where the priest lived. His house was still on church grounds and was larger than Sam was expecting; a few years before, two young men were sent to the town to be trained for the priesthood by Father Steven. The three of them lived in this house for a little over a year until the training was complete, and the two students were shipped across the country to different parishes because the town was not large enough to justify so many clergy members. 

Father Steven had collected a duffel bag-full of clothes and things while Sam had called Dean. It had taken a few bribes and a lot of awkward questions directed at storekeepers, but he had located the ingredients they needed and was on his way now to pick them all up and bring them to Cas for the switch. 

The familiar black Impala screamed into the parking lot, stopping exactly in front of the pair. Sam rolled his eyes as he went to walk around the hood of the car as Dean stuck his head out of the window. 

"Hey, Father," he said cordially. 

"Dean, I presume," Father Steven answered as he piled in and made himself comfortable. "I've heard much about you." 

Dean smirked at Sammy, "Is that right? Just couldn't stop bragging about your big brother could you?" He looked at the priest through the rearview mirror, pulling out of the lot, "It's all true, by the way: I'm always this charming."

Steven looked shocked, "It's all true? So you actually are an egotistical man-whore that will no doubt joke about my profession in relation to this case and your own personal beliefs?" He leaned forward to look at Sam, who was trying to smother a smile, "Sam, he seems to want to make amends, I may have to ask you to close your ears if he needs Confession." 

Dean looked between the road and the priest in almost disbelief. He glanced at Sam, who was valiantly trying to cough out a laugh to no avail. 

"Of course we get the only smart-ass priest this side of the Mississippi to help us," Dean muttered, turning up the radio. 

XxX


End file.
